Of Their Shadows Deep
by Sionnain
Summary: Emma's insecurities might not be at all what you would think. Astonishing XMen, preGifted arc. References canon pairings.


**Of their shadows deep**

Emma wakes up from a dream she can't remember, her fingers clutching the soft white cotton of the bed-sheet like it's saving her from drowning. She turns her head on the pillow and sees Scott, who is asleep beside her, sprawled on his back. His breathing is deep, even. There is a half-smile on his face. Emma sends her mind into his, gently, sliding in soft and easy. She wants to see what he's dreaming about, wants to see something pleasant. Her own nightmare remains a mystery, which is almost worse, in a way. Not knowing means there are so many things it could be.

Scott's dream is about sex. Sex is about release, a way to relieve tension. Scott has a lot of tension. Emma knows this, in the mornings, when she's a therapist. A team-leader. A partner.

Now, she's thinking like Emma. Like a girlfriend. A girlfriend who knows that Scott feels guilty, in his dream, for what he's doing. The woman beneath him, moaning and panting and making small, needy cries, is not Emma.

Emma doesn't look to see who it is. She disentangles her mind from his and gets out of bed, throwing a robe over her body, padding quietly out of the room. A quick scan tells her everyone is asleep. She can feel them all dreaming; undulating psychic waves, gossamer-thin. Ghosts of things that don't make sense. Psychic energy is different, when it's a dream. Soft where waking thoughts are sharp. It's like running your fingers in warm water as compared to pressing them against shards of broken glass.

Emma walks into the kitchen, low-lit by the light over the stove. Scott insists it remains on, in case any of the students get up in the night. Xavier used to do that, too. She's glad Scott is there to think about these things, because she probably wouldn't. Emma brews herself some tea and looks out of the darkened window. She can't see anything. She's not really looking.

When the water has boiled, she takes her mug to the table. There is something peaceful about sitting there, by herself, drinking tea in the darkness. In the morning it is cheerful chaos. Too many people talking loudly all at once. Thinking too loudly. Emma watches her tea steep. Scott is still dreaming about sex.

The woman may be Jean. Emma still doesn't look at her face, amidst the tangle of limbs. It might not be. It doesn't really matter.

People think that Emma's the living, breathing representation of sex. The blonde hair, the revealing outfits. She doesn't blame anyone for thinking that; it's an image she's cultivated to confuse, to deceive. They bloody well _better_ think it. She's spent a lot of time and money making sure that they will. People don't notice her clever mind because they are too busy staring at her killer body. Anyone with half a brain should have figured out that she's more than swelling breasts and long legs. Scott did. Even Jean, probably, despite their mutual dislike. Jean never underestimated her. Jean knew she was a danger, and knew it wasn't just because Emma was beautiful and sultry and available.

Sometimes Emma thinks few people knew her as well as Jean. _Which is why I never liked her._ Emma thinks about Scott, again. About sex. About the men she has been with before him, when Scott was Jean's and wasn't hers.

She went to bed with Sebastian because he expected it. He was powerful and she needed his protection and his influence. And there was something there, beneath the intrigue and the constant maneuvering. Something between them that was affection, maybe something more. Or could have been, if they had been different people. Better people. Emma thinks she's just fooling herself. Sebastian cares for nothing that does not lead to power. If he loved her, it was only because of the status she brought him. Not because of Emma herself.

Emma has been to bed with fewer people than she is given credit for. Scott knows that, because she told him. People slyly suggest things about her and her perceived prowess beneath the sheets, and she wants him to know when these things are a lie. Actual sex is not her weapon of choice, anyway. It is the _promise_ of it, the allure. The suggestion, imbued in the curve of her body and the heat of her gaze, in the soft curve of her smile. The thrust of her hip when she stands.

Maybe that's why she always wears white. Because she is far more pure beneath her scandalous appearance than everyone thinks. She won't forget that, even if everyone else does.

But she does look good in it. Emma smiles slightly at that. Never let it be said she isn't a little vain. Why shouldn't she be? She's worked hard to look as good as she does. There is no shame in that.

In bed, she's pedestrian. With Sebastian and her handful of other lovers, she spent most of her time being whatever it was they wanted. Only with Scott has she been able to lower her defenses. Be Emma, in bed, instead of some version of herself that her lover wants her to be. And she is beginning to fear that Emma is not good enough. She knows what she likes now--honestly likes, without pretense--but what if that isn't what _he_ likes? It's a gamble, this being herself. When Scott dreams of other women who are not her, Emma wonders if she should just stop. Go back to being the fantasy lover, the ideal. Then she won't lose, because he won't leave her.

It is one of those things she would have liked to ask Jean. If they had been closer. If they had been friends. _Did you ever pretend to be what he wanted, just to keep him?_ Maybe she did, in the end, but that couldn't have been true in the beginning. Emma knows Jean was good in bed. As Scott's memories attest, sex was never their problem; their lack thereof, in the end, spoke of other problems.

Scott is a man who likes physical activity; in the Danger Room, in bed. He likes things that are dangerous. Flying. Extreme sports. Is Emma enough for him? Is she as exciting as flying a jet? Most men would take one look at her and laugh. Of course she is! Look at her, the way she moves. That purr that sounds like honey-soaked sugar when she speaks. But those men who think that is all she is, they never know any different, and she does not care what they think. Emma wants to be enough for Scott, without having to pretend to be something she isn't. Scott has given her loyalty and love and honor, and she will not repay him with a lie.

She can hear the clock in the hallway. No one would ever believe that she was awake at nearly three in the morning, sitting alone in the kitchen and drinking tea, worrying she wasn't a good enough lover. Wearing Scott's bathrobe, the cuffs rolled up three times so her hands are free. Her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, face drawn and tired. In the morning she will be Miss Frost, headmistress. She will make sarcastic and pointed comments at Kitty. Kitty will feel secure, feel safe. If Emma were to ask interested questions Kitty would only think Emma was up to something. She will be exactly as Kitty expects her to be. Emma will give Hank the crossword puzzle and speak knowledgeably about some tidbit in the morning papers. Something she reads before he comes down to breakfast in order to talk to him about it. Hank respects her because he knows she's smart beneath the surface. Emma will be smart, and they will have their coffee together--that fancy Colombian roast of which Hank is so fond. Emma prefers tea. Emma will smile politely at Logan and be reserved, cool, her usual ice-queen self. Logan never wants, again, to hunger after something that he cannot have. To want someone who will not have him, but will not let him go.

Emma does not want there to be dissension and suspicion, because that takes the focus away from the things that need to be done. There is much to be done. If it goes untended, it will not be on her account.

And Scott. She will smile at him, brush the hair out of his face with gentle fingers. Put her face against his chest and breathe in his scent, familiar now and reassuring. Pick out his clothes because she knows that secretly, he likes that she does that, and he trusts her to pick out something nice and complimentary. She will look like a million dollars when she leaves her bedroom, no matter if she only feels like less than a dollar on the inside. No matter what insecurities she has, about never being good enough. To be Scott's girlfriend. To be the headmistress of Xavier's. To be an X-Man.

To have survived.

Emma sips her tea. Her hand is shaking. She is thinking about Genosha. She will not go back to sleep tonight.


End file.
